Read Online Delayed Death (Temptation in Florence Book 1) by Beate Boeker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beate Boeker
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stiff legs, Carlina went to the door. This is not going well. Oh, my God. I should have told him the truth. They have found out that grandpa died earlier. Damn, damn, damn.
She took the sign from its hiding place, hung it on the inside of the glass door and closed the door with the key. Then she turned around and faced him. "Come to the back," she said. No need to be polite with this humanized police computer.
He didn't take his eyes off her, not even for one second. "Why?"
"Because I don't want the whole world to see that I'm having a long conversation with a Commissario from the homicide department."
Those hateful eyebrows twitched. "Is it going to be a long conversation?"
Carlina clenched her teeth. "Yes." She brushed past him and went to the back of the store. He was right on her heels, so close she felt stifled. "Do you have to walk so close behind me?" It sounded like a hiss.
"Yes." His voice was free of emotions. "Otherwise, you can pull a gun on me."
"I'm not wearing a gun!"
"I know. But you might have one in a drawer somewhere."
How did he know she wasn't wearing a gun? Had those light eyes scanned her from top to toe? Carlina felt hot, then cold. "I don't own a gun."
"Officially, you don't," he agreed.
Oh, God. "How come you're on your own?" She drew the curtain to the side and stepped into her tiny storage room. "I thought policemen only come in sets. Are you sure I'm not too dangerous to handle all on your own?" She heard her own words and stopped, appalled. What on earth was she saying?
His gaze became arctic. "I don't underestimate you, if that's what you fear. However," he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "you shouldn't underestimate me either."
I sure don't. On the contrary. Carlina took two small folding footstools off a hook on the wall, unfolded them and placed them on the floor. Her storage room was small to begin with, and her clever storage system diminished it even further. She was proud of the tiny cubicles that covered every free space on the walls from the ceiling to the floor, plus the second layer of storage racks that could be moved to the side on rails. She pushed the racks to the end to enlarge the room close to the curtain. Now the door to the small bathroom in the back was blocked, but that didn't matter. "Sit down."
He lifted his eyebrows.
The way he stood there seemed insolent, as if he was relaxed and at his ease, but she wasn't fooled. He had a coiled energy about him that reminded her of a panther. If she made a wrong move, he would pounce on her quicker than she could blink.
"I prefer to remain standing," he said.
"Suit yourself." Damn. Now I have to look up at him if I want to rest my feet. Carlina sat on her footstool, leaned her back against the shelves and, to make up for her inferior position, put her feet onto the stool he had rejected as if she was the most relaxed tourist Florence had ever seen. If she rested her head against the shelf, she could even look at him without getting a crick in the neck.
Was he grinning? She stared at him.
He returned her gaze unblinking.
I must have imagined that twitch around his mouth.
He reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket.
Carlina jumped.
"Nervous, are you?"
She didn't reply.
He pulled out a small box in black and pressed a button. A red light came on. "I want to record our conversation. Do you agree?"
What choice do I have? "Yes." The tiny room felt overcrowded with him at the door.
"Your name is Caroline Arabella Ashley, living at Via delle Pinzochere, 10 in Florence. Do you confirm this?"
"Yes." Carlina bit her lips. God, this was hard. She felt like a total idiot. How could she ever have lied to that unforgiving, inhuman man?
"Signorina Ashley, do you wish to add anything to your statement of last Sunday?"
I don't want to play cat and mouse with him. He's better at this than I am. Carlina pulled herself up. "I do."
He waited without twitching a muscle.
"I
She took the sign from its hiding place, hung it on the inside of the glass door and closed the door with the key. Then she turned around and faced him. "Come to the back," she said. No need to be polite with this humanized police computer.
He didn't take his eyes off her, not even for one second. "Why?"
"Because I don't want the whole world to see that I'm having a long conversation with a Commissario from the homicide department."
Those hateful eyebrows twitched. "Is it going to be a long conversation?"
Carlina clenched her teeth. "Yes." She brushed past him and went to the back of the store. He was right on her heels, so close she felt stifled. "Do you have to walk so close behind me?" It sounded like a hiss.
"Yes." His voice was free of emotions. "Otherwise, you can pull a gun on me."
"I'm not wearing a gun!"
"I know. But you might have one in a drawer somewhere."
How did he know she wasn't wearing a gun? Had those light eyes scanned her from top to toe? Carlina felt hot, then cold. "I don't own a gun."
"Officially, you don't," he agreed.
Oh, God. "How come you're on your own?" She drew the curtain to the side and stepped into her tiny storage room. "I thought policemen only come in sets. Are you sure I'm not too dangerous to handle all on your own?" She heard her own words and stopped, appalled. What on earth was she saying?
His gaze became arctic. "I don't underestimate you, if that's what you fear. However," he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "you shouldn't underestimate me either."
I sure don't. On the contrary. Carlina took two small folding footstools off a hook on the wall, unfolded them and placed them on the floor. Her storage room was small to begin with, and her clever storage system diminished it even further. She was proud of the tiny cubicles that covered every free space on the walls from the ceiling to the floor, plus the second layer of storage racks that could be moved to the side on rails. She pushed the racks to the end to enlarge the room close to the curtain. Now the door to the small bathroom in the back was blocked, but that didn't matter. "Sit down."
He lifted his eyebrows.
The way he stood there seemed insolent, as if he was relaxed and at his ease, but she wasn't fooled. He had a coiled energy about him that reminded her of a panther. If she made a wrong move, he would pounce on her quicker than she could blink.
"I prefer to remain standing," he said.
"Suit yourself." Damn. Now I have to look up at him if I want to rest my feet. Carlina sat on her footstool, leaned her back against the shelves and, to make up for her inferior position, put her feet onto the stool he had rejected as if she was the most relaxed tourist Florence had ever seen. If she rested her head against the shelf, she could even look at him without getting a crick in the neck.
Was he grinning? She stared at him.
He returned her gaze unblinking.
I must have imagined that twitch around his mouth.
He reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket.
Carlina jumped.
"Nervous, are you?"
She didn't reply.
He pulled out a small box in black and pressed a button. A red light came on. "I want to record our conversation. Do you agree?"
What choice do I have? "Yes." The tiny room felt overcrowded with him at the door.
"Your name is Caroline Arabella Ashley, living at Via delle Pinzochere, 10 in Florence. Do you confirm this?"
"Yes." Carlina bit her lips. God, this was hard. She felt like a total idiot. How could she ever have lied to that unforgiving, inhuman man?
"Signorina Ashley, do you wish to add anything to your statement of last Sunday?"
I don't want to play cat and mouse with him. He's better at this than I am. Carlina pulled herself up. "I do."
He waited without twitching a muscle.
"I
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